


One Day, Robots Will Cry

by J (j_writes)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've activated me," Patrick told him. "I belong to you now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day, Robots Will Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Firedragon9.

"Hi, I'm sorry," were the first words he heard as he blinked into existence. "Somebody made a mistake."

"Sorry," Patrick repeated, opening his eyes and looking at his man. He was small, and looked utterly bewildered. Patrick could work with that. "That doesn't sound like any name I know."

"No, I mean—" his man stopped, and tilted his head a little. "Was that a joke?"

Patrick blinked slowly at him. "Did you think it was funny?"

"I…I don't—look," his man shook his head, reaching for the side of the crate. "There was a mistake. I'm going to…I have to send you back. You're not what I ordered."

Patrick frowned. "You requested a singer. You got me."

"I requested a _girl_," his man told him. "Look, I'm just going to…" the door shut with a loud clang, and Patrick blinked into the darkness. "I have to call the factory."

"It's late," Patrick told him. "They're closed already."

"Well then I'm just…" there was an indistinct beeping noise, then his man cut himself off. "Travis? Hey, man, I have a problem with the…you know, the…" There was a pause. "Yeah. That."

His voice drifted off into another part of the house, and Patrick listened to the soft rise and fall of it, indistinct yelling followed by a brief upset conversation. Patrick sighed. It was as if no one ever bothered to read the manuals.

Finally, he heard footsteps returning, and the door clanged open again. "So," his man said, "apparently I can't just give you back."

"You've activated me," Patrick told him. "I belong to you now."

"Yeah, great, but look. I was looking for…I mean." He waved a hand at Patrick. "You're not really my type, you know?"

Patrick nodded. "I apologize for that. But you have me now. And you requested a singer. I can do that, if nothing else. I can sing."

His man shook his head. "I just asked for a singer because, you know. It's hot. People who can sing. I didn't want…"

"Me," Patrick finished. "I got that. Thank you."

His man tilted his head and stared at him. "Man, you're a snarky little robot, aren't you?"

"Snarky, yes. Little…" Patrick ran his eyes over his man's body and smirked.

He was rewarded by a faint blush appearing on his man's cheeks. "Look, do you want to…?" he backed up a little, leaving the door of the crate open, and gestured to the living room. "I mean, I'm going to take you back tomorrow. But you don't have to stay in that box all night."

Patrick flinched. "I thought as much," he said flatly.

His man shifted from foot to foot, looking awkward. "It's nothing personal. I just. You're not what I ordered."

"No," Patrick agreed. "I'm not." He looked around. "I like your home," he said, accessing his politeness chip, and his man grinned.

"Yeah, I just moved in, actually. It's pretty kickass, isn't it? There's, you know. Oh, there's a kitchen, if you're…I mean. If you—" he paused, frowning. "Do you eat?"

"Socially," Patrick told him, nodding, and his man laughed, loud and startling.

"Socially, right," he said. He shifted again, looking down at the floor. "I'm Pete," he said, holding out a hand as if he half expected Patrick to tear it from his body.

Patrick just wrapped his fingers around it, shaking politely. "Patrick," he replied.

"Patrick," Pete repeated. "Patrick the lovebot."

Patrick stiffened, taking his hand away. "Personal Computerized Companion, actually," he said, shifting back away from Pete a little.

"Right. Sorry."

"I perform many functions."

"I know. I didn't mean…I'm sorry."

Patrick nodded. "I appreciate your allowing me out of my box for the night," he said stiffly. "Now if you would just point me to the corner where you would like me to stand, I will go there and leave you alone until the morning."

Pete blinked. "Hey, I didn't mean to…" he reached out and touched Patrick's arm, his hand startlingly warm. "You don't have to go…you know. Stand in a corner or whatever." He paused. "Is that really what you do? Don't you lie down?"

Patrick bit his lip to keep from smiling a little. "Again, only socially."

Pete blinked, then laughed again. "Right," he said. "Well, you sit, don't you? You could…I don't know. Sit down and watch movies with me or something, right? Or play video games? Do you play video games?"

"I haven't," Patrick said. "I've only just begun to exist. But I think I might like to," he ventured, and at that, Pete was pulling him across the room to the couch and pushing him down into the cushions.

"Great," he said. "Awesome. We can just…" he stuffed a controller into Patrick's hands. "We can hang out," he said.

"Hang out," Patrick repeated, and when Pete looked at him again, he smiled.

Pete smiled back.  
______________

Pete looked younger in his sleep.

He moved around a lot, tugging the blankets closer around him, then pushing them off again, twisting from one side to another, half-whispering incoherent words into his pillow.

Patrick watched, fascinated.

Pete had told him to stay on the couch for the night (_no lovebot—sorry, sorry, Personal Computerized Companion—of mine is going to be stuck standing in a corner like a piece of furniture all night_), but his back grew uncomfortable in that curved sitting position. He was programmed to stay in uncomfortable positions to please his man, but Pete was sleeping now, so it didn't matter to him what Patrick did.

Patrick chose to watch him sleep.

Pete slept shirtless, but his whole upper half was covered in tattoos. There was a part of Patrick—many parts of him, actually—that wanted to touch that skin, lick his way across each tattoo. But Pete had made it clear that was not what he wanted, and Patrick was made to comply with his wishes.

…But right now, Pete was sleeping.

Patrick reached out and let his finger trace lightly over one of the bat wings on his stomach, and Pete twitched in his sleep, sighing out a little laugh and pulling back from Patrick's touch. It appeared he was ticklish. Patrick took his hand back, then reached up to rub over the edge of the thorns running across Pete's collarbone. This time, Pete shifted towards him, tipping his head back, allowing Patrick's fingers to slide up over his neck, his jaw, to touch the corner of his lips.

Patrick wanted to taste him.

He bit his lip, trying to hold back the urge, but then Pete's tongue was flicking out, licking across the pad of Patrick's finger, his lips closing around the tip of it and sucking, and Patrick shivered, losing all sense of control.

He knelt onto the bed at Pete's side and took his hand back from Pete's mouth to brace it on the bed. Then he leaned over and licked across the tattoo on Pete's stomach. Pete's hips came up off the bed, a tiny gasp coming from his lips, and before he could wake up entirely, Patrick tugged his boxers down his legs and wrapped his lips around the head of Pete's cock.

Pete moaned aloud, his hand coming down to wrap around the back of Patrick's neck, eyes still closed, head still tossed back against the pillows. Patrick sucked at him, running his tongue around the tip of his cock, then sliding down, taking him all the way into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck, _fuck_," Pete choked out, and Patrick looked up to find Pete looking down at him, eyes wide and dark, hand clenching even harder at Patrick's hair. His hips came up off the bed, fucking up into Patrick's mouth, and Patrick let him, loving the way that Pete's cock was stretching his lips, bumping against the inside of his mouth.

It wasn't until Patrick forgot himself, reaching up and pinning Pete's hips down to the bed, swallowing around him, that Pete came, crying out into the silence of the room.

"God, you—" he gasped out, reaching down and touching the corner of Patrick's lips. "Your _mouth_."

Patrick smirked at him, then bit his lip and pulled away. "I'm sorry, I'll—" he began, but then Pete's hand was wrapping around his wrist, tugging him up the bed towards him.

"Hey," Pete said, "don't you…" His other hand pressed against the front of Patrick's pants, and Patrick gasped at the sensations that produced.

"_Oh_," he whispered, looking down at where Pete's hand was rubbing against him. "I…I guess I do." Pete laughed, and then his hand was undoing the button on Patrick's pants, sliding inside and—_holy fuck_—wrapping around him. "Pete," Patrick breathed. "I don't…" he closed his eyes, tipping his head back so he didn't have to watch, because if he saw Pete's wrist twisting inside his pants one more time, he was going to _explode_. "You don't have to—"

"Shut up," Pete told him, his voice a little rough as he leaned in to press his face into the curve of Patrick's neck and suck at the skin there. "Just…shut up, ok?"

His hand did this wicked little twist around Patrick's cock, and his teeth bit lightly into Patrick's throat, and that was all it took for Patrick to be shaking apart, shuddering and thrusting up into Pete's hand.

"_Oh_," he said when he could breathe again, staring up at the ceiling. "That was…" he shook his head, lost for words.

Pete nodded beside him. "Yeah," he agreed with a contented sigh, curling onto his side and pressing up against Patrick.

Patrick stiffened.

Pete leaned up on his elbow, peering at him. "What?" he asked.

"I shouldn't have done that," Patrick told him. "I'm sorry."

"God, _I'm_ not," Pete said, flopping back against the pillows.

"No, I mean, it wasn't my place to…" Patrick sighed. "I know you're taking me back in the morning."

Pete frowned at him. "Was that you trying to make me not do that? Because, I gotta say, you make a compelling argument."

"_No_," Patrick said, sitting up abruptly. "That's what I'm saying. I did it because I _wanted_ to. And that's…that's wrong. What I want shouldn't matter. It was just…this is the only night I'm going to exist. I wanted…to _do_ something with it."

Pete sat up too, twisting so his whole body was facing Patrick. "What do you mean, the only night you're—" he broke off. "Oh holy _fuck_."

Patrick frowned at him. "You didn't know what they do when you return….something like me?"

"I thought they just…reset you or something."

Patrick shook his head. "I'll be melted down and used for a newer model," he said. "You activated me," he reminded him. "I belong to you."

Pete stared at him for a long time, then reached out to touch the side of Patrick's head, playing with the hair peeking out from under his hat. "Yeah," he said, his voice quiet but forceful. "Yeah, you _do_." He wrapped his fingers into Patrick's hair and pulled him in, kissing him hard and possessive, with just the slightest edge of teeth. Patrick kissed him back, desperation sparking between them, his own hand coming up to tentatively rest against Pete's back.

When Pete pulled away, Patrick closed his eyes, afraid to look at him for fear he'd heard him wrong. But then Pete's hands were on him, pushing Patrick's shirt from his shoulders, taking his hat off and hanging it over one of the bedposts. "You do belong to me. And tonight, you're going to sleep here, in my bed, and then tomorrow? We're not going _anywhere_."

Patrick opened his eyes. "You're not going to—"

"No," Pete said. "I'm not." He tugged Patrick down against him and Patrick curled in against his chest. "Do you sleep?" Pete asked into the darkness.

"No," Patrick told him, closing his eyes. "But I think…" he paused for a long moment, then smiled against Pete's skin. "Yeah. I think I might be able to dream."

"Good," Pete said, wrapping his arm around Patrick. "Now, hey, I hear you're a singer. How about singing me something?"

So Patrick smiled, and nodded, and sang his man to sleep.


End file.
